


Shattered Restraint

by PeppyBismilk



Series: Method Skating [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (it's the harness scene), Canon Compliant, Communication via Figure Skating, Companion Piece, Falling In Love, Friendship, M/M, Married Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, POV Phichit Chulanont, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21408160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk
Summary: Phichit and Seung-gil's summer training session might have ended in heartbreak but Phichit isn't about to give up without a fight. When all other methods of communication fail, he turns to the ice.Companion to/continuation ofReciprocity.
Relationships: Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont/Lee Seung Gil
Series: Method Skating [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543306
Comments: 24
Kudos: 47





	Shattered Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> I'd recommend reading [Reciprocity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105296) before this story if you haven't already. Please also note that the sex is more graphic this time around. I don't think it warrants an E rating, but I will promptly adjust the rating if anyone disagrees.

“So, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, is this the first time you’ve been away from Viktor since you two tied the knot?” Phichit poses the question in the lobby of Viktor’s fancy Gion hotel. 

Yuuri flushes and looks away, even though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol. Drunk or sober, confident or shy, he’s still adorable. 

“We’ve been apart!” Yuuri insists. “I had a headache last week and he walked Makkachin without me.”

That can’t have taken more than half an hour and yet it probably felt like an eternity to Viktor and Yuuri, because they aren’t comfortable unless they’re touching. Phichit is no substitute for Viktor, but he pats Yuuri’s arm in consolation. “I think it’s great! I just feel bad for stealing you away from him.”

“It’s fine.” But there's relief in Yuuri’s smile, as if he forgot that Phichit would never make fun of him for being head over heels for Viktor. “Besides,” Yuuri adds, meeker, “it’s just for a little bit.”

He and Phichit step out into the thickening sea of people on the Kyoto streets. The excitement doesn’t quite make up for Seung-gil blowing him off, but whiskey and time with Yuuri push the bad things to the back of Phichit’s mind. 

He pulls out his phone to take a few pictures of the sights. Even now, still early and blocks away from the main event, it’s a zoo. He hasn't seen nearly as much of the city as he’d like, and he’s probably not going to get that Kinkakuji selfie this summer. Maybe he’ll get a chance the next time he competes in Kyoto. And maybe, if Seung-gil happens to be competing too, Phichit can drag him along.

_Stop_, he tells himself. _ Yuuri time. _

“Have you ever been to Gion before?” he asks.

Yuuri shakes his head. “Well, I’ve been to Gion, but never for the festival. Too many people.”

“But you’ll do anything for Viktor?” 

Yuuri nods, and Phichit feels even guiltier for separating them.

“And for you!” Yuuri adds, as an afterthought. “I know you love stuff like this. That’s why I invited you.” 

Phichit comes to this realization at least once a month, but it floors him every time: Yuuri is the most amazing person he knows. 

Yuuri never would have chosen to attend Gion Matsuri himself, but all he wants is to make Viktor happy. And Phichit would bet money that Viktor won’t make him stay in the thick of the festival for very long.

It reminds him of someone else who doesn't really want to be here. They’re both pretending this is part of Seung-gil’s training, but Phichit doesn’t believe it anymore and he’s pretty sure Seung-gil doesn’t, either. One thing he’s learned this summer is that Seung-gil doesn’t do anything he doesn’t feel like doing without a compelling reason. He straight up ignores Min-so all the time (which is the only reason she texts Phichit). 

Guilt wallops him and he remembers why he doesn’t drink whiskey. Not only did he separate Viktor and Yuuri, but he left Seung-gil alone with Viktor. 

_I had to do something_, he reminds himself. Seung-gil needed a Phichit break, and Phichit and Yuuri were way overdue for best friend time. 

“Do you miss your hamsters?” Yuuri asks before Phichit can direct the conversation. Maybe it’s the congestion—they have to hug the buildings as they walk to avoid being trampled by the crowd—or maybe it’s the look on Phichit’s face, but Yuuri’s voice is tight, like he’s avoiding pricklier questions.

“Of course I do, but I can tell that’s not what you really want to ask me about.” Phichit wants to keep talking about Yuuri, but part of him is dying to talk about Seung-gil. If Yuuri asks how his Lutz is coming along, he might shake the guy. 

Yuuri looks sheepish. “I was kind of waiting for you to volunteer.”

“You should know nothing is off limits between us!” Phichit says, throwing an arm around his shoulder even though they’ll take up twice as much room this way. “At least not on my end.”

“Okay.” Yuuri nods. “Well, have things gotten any better with Seung-gil?”

Phichit thought he was ready to talk, but when it comes to Seung-gil, there are no simple answers. Phichit exhales through his teeth. “I mean, he’s here, but he’s also kind of not.”

“I noticed,” Yuuri says. “Did you guys talk last night?”

“No.” Phichit winces at the disapproval on Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri’s expression goes stern and serious, like a father’s. “But you’re still sleeping together.”

“Yeah,” Phichit replies, even though all they did last night was literally sleep together in a heap of tangled limbs. It was nice. Less nice when Seung-gil got out of bed in the morning without so much as a look back, but baby steps are still steps.

Yuuri sighs his name, and not in a  _ how romantic _ sort of way. Phichit can almost see him tiptoeing around his next question. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure that he’s not just using you?”

Even in a gentle tone, the words sting.

“Wow.” Phichit blinks a few times. “How cold do you think he is?”

“I didn’t say it was on purpose!” Yuuri stumbles on some uneven pavement as he scrambles for an explanation. Phichit doesn’t give him a chance. 

“So he’s  _ accidentally _ stringing me along?” Sarcasm is usually lost on Yuuri, but he chances it. “That makes me feel  _ so _ much better.” 

Phichit feels bad as soon as the words leave his mouth. Unlike Seung-gil, Yuuri is just being a good friend. Phichit isn’t sure why he’s so hell bent on defending someone who keeps giving him the cold shoulder, anyway. Yuuri doesn’t deserve this kind of lip. 

Yuuri frowns and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying this right.” He’s sweating, and not just from the heat. “Maybe he thinks sex is all you want, and he’s okay with it.”

“Maybe.” It’s not a bad theory, even if it doesn’t hold water. Yuuri was never the candid sex talk type even before Viktor, but Phichit throws it out there anyway. “I mean, he kisses me when he comes, but sure, maybe he just wants to fuck.”

Yuuri stops in his tracks, eyes wide as he looks around frantically to see if anyone overheard their English exchange. “Oh. That’s...um, you don’t say?”

“You have to admit that’s some Viktor-level shit,” says Phichit. He folds his arms and tries not to look too pleased with himself.

Cheeks bright red, Yuuri shrinks back into the neck of his yukata, and Phichit knows he’s right. “Um, well, Viktor _has_. I mean, sometimes he does, but, you see—” 

Poor Yuuri’s suffered enough, and Phichit takes mercy on him. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you kiss and tell. And I’m not saying it’s true love or anything, but I can tell he cares about me, okay?” 

He should have listed all the other things Seung-gil did for him this summer instead of picking a sex example. Like cooking for him, teaching him jumps, keeping him company while he watches TV, not protesting tagged photos on Instagram, agreeing to these outings…

Then again, sex is pretty big—and not just because it’s all they do anymore. It’s the only time Seung-gil truly lets go (at least when he’s sober). He comes so close when he’s skating, but when they’re together, it’s all fearless eye contact, mingled breathing, and kissing—so much kissing. Honesty and vulnerability that should be terrifying but _aren’t_. If Seung-gil could show that side of himself on the ice, he’d be unstoppable. If he could just summon some of that trust outside of bed, then maybe...

“I trust you,” Yuuri says, slow and calm again. “I trust your judgement. But are you happy?”

That’s a tougher question, and one Phichit’s still trying to figure out himself. Everything would be perfect if Seung-gil would just hang out with him like he used to AND have sex with him. Then, they could navigate the looming separation together. 

But maybe this was just for the summer—a brief but passionate fling Phichit would recall fondly as an old man.  _ The one that got away. _

“I know what I signed up for,” he says. Yuuri eyes him with skepticism, and Phichit isn’t sure he believes himself, either. For his own benefit as much as Yuuri’s, he adds, “We’ll figure it out.”

Yuuri’s lips press into a thin line. “Aren’t you running out of time?”

They are. It’s why he always swears he’ll ask Seung-gil _tomorrow_. It's the reason he keeps his mouth shut when tomorrow comes, holding Seung-gil for as long as he can without asking for more. No matter how many times he tells himself this is all new to Seung-gil and he’s probably just overwhelmed, all of Yuuri’s concerns are already there in the back of Phichit’s mind.

Regardless of what Seung-gil is really feeling or what he’s keeping from Phichit or himself, one thing is certain: Phichit fell deeper. He’s still falling and he’ll take anything he can get, because it’s worth the risk.

“I just want you to be happy,” Yuuri says, patting his shoulder. “I know Seung-gil isn’t as closed off as he seems.”

Phichit doesn’t ask how Yuuri knows. Socially awkward people probably understand each other on a level Phichit can’t. Seung-gil and Yuuri are almost kindred spirits, even though Seung-gil isn’t anxious and Yuuri isn’t emotionally constipated. 

The crowds work in their favor and Yuuri only gets recognized a few times. When they reach the arcade, it’s clear they’re not the only ones who had the brilliant idea of taking summer purikura in yukata (although they are the only guys). There’s a line for the good machines, but that just makes Phichit even more determined to make this old dream of theirs come true.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Yuuri asks. 

Phichit knows who Yuuri’s referring to, and he can picture it. “Viktor is talking about you and Seung-gil checked out 15 minutes ago.”

“That’s…” Yuuri laughs. “You’re probably right.”

It’s finally their turn, and Phichit transforms their cute and scandalous poses into pure art. These are definitely going on his Instagram. 

The pictures print and then it’s time to meet their dates, for lack of a better word.

“Thanks for these,” Phichit says, still beaming at the stickers. “Thanks for today.”

“Thanks for meeting us here.” Yuuri rubs his own sheet of stickers between his fingers and smiles down at them. “I know Viktor and I can be, well, a lot, but you’re still my best friend, too.”

“You’re never too much,” Phichit assures him. “If you loving Viktor bothered me, I would never have agreed to be your roommate in the first place.”

Yuuri flushes, then nods. 

They watch the crowds in silence, and then Viktor appears, glowing brighter than the ornate lanterns that decorate the shops and streets. 

And there’s Seung-gil behind him, glowering in his gray yukata like someone spit on his steak. Phichit can’t take his eyes off of him.

“I’ll talk to him tonight,” he says without looking at Yuuri.

“Hmm?” Yuuri barely registers him, already back into Viktor mode. Phichit doesn’t mind. He’s taken enough of Yuuri’s attention for a while, and Seung-gil is probably ready for a break from Viktor.

It’s a hell of a night—hot and sweaty because it’s summer, compounded so many bodies it’s hard to move. Phichit loves every second, but even though he’s drunk, he’s hyper aware of Seung-gil at his side. It’s hard to tell if he’s enjoying any of it, but at least he seems content to let Viktor pay for everything. He even agrees to karaoke, although Phichit’s pretty sure it’s only because he didn’t hear the question. 

Seung-gil drinks when they get there, gets drunker than he did on his birthday, but instead of getting cute and handsy, he just gets more sullen and withdrawn. Maybe he’s mad at Phichit for making him come to karaoke. For making him come to Kyoto. For making him come to Japan to train at all.

Phichit tries to have a good time, focuses on Yuuri and Viktor, but Seung-gil keeps staring at him. 

In his drunken state, it takes longer for Phichit to recognize it, but Seung-gil’s not mad—he’s lonely. 

After watching him sulk for a half dozen songs, Phichit gets the brilliant idea to put Seung-gil’s free skate song into the queue. It doesn’t take much convincing to get him to sing (because everyone's drunk now), and the haunting opening melody reminds Phichit of Yuuri and crowds and Viktor and putting other people first. What has he really done for Seung-gil?

But then Seung-gil is singing and his mind just stops. 

He’s never heard Seung-gil sing before, and it’s mesmerizing. Phichit googled a translation of the lyrics a while back, and even though Min-so picked the song months ago, he pretends it’s personal. Tears slip out and he wants to ask Seung-gil to stay in Kobe with him forever, but that’s just ridiculous and all he can say is, “Holy shit, I’m so drunk.”

Things get even better once they decide to stay in Kyoto until tomorrow morning. Phichit and Seung-gil flub their way through Satsuki's favorite warm up songs and they’re actually smiling at each other. Warmth pools in Phichit’s belly even though he stopped drinking a while ago. He doesn’t even notice when Yuuri and Viktor nod off in a heap, but the sight of them together tugs at his heart, and he switches to tender lullabies. Seung-gil watches him sing and it’s almost like before, except there’s so much to say and for once Phichit can’t find the words.

Why is it so hard? All he’s done this summer is talk to Seung-gil. Or talk at him. Seung-gil must be tired of all that talking, but he’s still here.

Phichit stops singing but Seung-gil doesn’t stop staring. He looks content, but he might just be sleepy or bored. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, even after a whole summer together. 

How well does Phichit really know him?

Somewhere in the back of his not-quite-drunk, not-quite-sober mind, he remembers promising Yuuri that he would talk to Seung-gil, but he still can’t say a thing and now he kind of has to pee.

The moment he acknowledges his bladder, the need becomes urgent, and he excuses himself to the bathroom. Relief clears his mind, almost like he peed out the alcohol. Is that a thing? He should ask Seung-gil.

He washes his hands and tries to make himself more presentable—not that Seung-gil cares about appearances. Seung-gil has seen Phichit at his heat wave worst and still sees fit to fuck him in every sense of the word. Determination blooms in Phichit’s stomach and he thinks he’s ready to talk. 

When he returns to the room, Seung-gil’s staring off into space again like he’s half asleep. Was it just the alcohol that had Seung-gil loosening up? Phichit’s confidence fizzles, and he collapses onto the worn couch, falling back on the comfort of his phone. Aside from a few selfies with Yuuri, all of his recent photos are of Seung-gil, posing like he’s not sure what to do with himself. Phichit scrolls back to Osaka, back to the rooftop, just to double check. There’s no way Seung-gil would look at him like that if he wasn’t interested. 

“Did your wish come true?” he asks, mostly to see if Seung-gil is still awake.

“Won’t know until the season starts,” Seung-gil says. “What did you really wish for?”

When it comes to Phichit, Seung-gil is almost too observant. The truth is Phichit made three wishes that day. His ice show, as always, came first. Landing three quads in competition came second, but he squeezed a lot onto that little slip of paper.

_And_ _I wish Seung-gil would open up to me, but I hope he can’t read Thai. _

The last part wasn’t really a wish, but he still holds out hope that his third wish will come true.

Phichit glances at Yuuri and swallows. They’re running out of time. 

“What are we, Seung-gil?” It’s not an answer. 

Seung-gil’s vacant stare spans hours and gets him the rest of the way to sober. 

“You were a good training partner.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth, either. It would be easier if that was all they were, but Seung-gil is just giving up. 

So Phichit gives up, too. He pastes a smile on his face and it sticks all the way back to Kobe. Running on no sleep, he buys a cake for Satsuki and says it’s from Seung-gil, too (even though it isn’t). Phichit fakes that smile all the way back to Thailand, long enough to capture his joyous reunion with his hamsters for his followers.

He sets the air conditioner up a degree to save energy, but his room still feels too cold. It’s enough to make him cry.

There’s a knock at his door. “Hey, are you okay?” It’s his sister. 

“Yeah.” Phichit sniffs, trying to put his smile back, but it’s no use hiding from Ruthai. “Not really.”

“Can I come in?”

He wipes his eyes with his wrist. “Yeah.”

The door creaks as Ruthai enters. “I should have known something was wrong when you didn’t want to get crepes with me.”

“I missed my babies,” Phichit says. He nods to his phone. “And I really did have to post an update.” The messenger app is open to a days-old conversation with Seung-gil, but the text box is blank because there’s nothing to say. 

“Do you miss your boyfriend?” Ruthai asks. She’s just like Phichit. She’s a people pleaser, a fixer who can’t leave well enough alone. 

But she’s also only 14 and he doesn’t want to tell her that they were never really dating, so he says, “I think we broke up.”

“What?” Ruthai gasps, eyes wide and sad. “But you guys always looked so happy in your pictures.”

She could see it, too. Phichit sighs. “We did, didn’t we?” 

“Do I have to go beat him up?” Her voice is soft but she’s completely serious. Phichit laughs anyway.

“Thanks, but he didn’t cheat on me or anything. It just didn’t work out.”

“Why not?” Ruthai asks, and Phichit hopes she never meets her own Seung-gil, that she never falls in love with someone who isn’t every bit as open and honest as she is…

_ Shit. _

He starts to cry again. Without another word, Ruthai wraps her arms around him, and it’s the first thing that helps. 

Phichit’s in love and Seung-gil broke his heart. Maybe that was the plan all along, from the moment Seung-gil picked his theme for the season. Maybe he was inspired by Georgi Popovich and his ex-girlfriend—toying with Phichit’s feelings to improve his own skating like some kind of sadist. Maybe Seung-gil never wanted him at all. 

Phichit doesn’t believe a word of it, but it’s easier to be mad than sad, and he’s tired of crying. 

He doesn’t stay home long before visiting Detroit again, but he and Ruthai skate and get crepes first, and that helps, too.

“Wow, it must have been hot in Japan because you’re on fire!” says Ciao Ciao as Phichit lands quad after quad, combo after combo. “I knew you two would be good for each other.”

They were. They _are_. But that doesn’t change the fact that Seung-gil is a dick. 

Anger is new but easy, and it gets him more speed and just a little more height out of his quad loop. 

He carries that anger all the way to the U.S. International, and spite earns him a silver medal. Phichit congratulates Kenjirou Minami on his bronze and mirrors his excitement, but it’s a relief when a reporter sweeps the kid away for an interview.

“If you were trying to impress me with that Lutz, it worked,” Chris says, gold medal sparkling on his chest.

The devil on Phichit’s shoulder (who looks just like Chris) tells him,  _ Seung-gil would be so jealous.  _ Phichit’s not going to kiss him and he’s definitely not going to sleep with him, but a little flirting won’t hurt, so he winks. “Then I guess my nefarious plan worked.”

Chris’s eyebrows go up and he smiles. “And here I thought you were so cozy with Seung-gil this summer. Won’t he mind?”

“He knows what it was.” The words taste sour but Phichit’s still upset.

“Ah, there’s nothing like a summer fling,” Chris says. They pose for a picture, then he leans in closer to add, “Except maybe an autumn tryst?”

They drink and flirt their way through the banquet and they’re better friends at the end, but Chris was always going back to his boyfriend and Phichit was always going back to his hotel alone. 

He should be over it by now. He’s been in longer relationships before; hell, what he had with Seung-gil doesn’t even count as a relationship. Post-competition adrenaline and frustration flood his mind with stolen moments, swallowed gasps, and echoes of the beat of skin on skin. But nothing he can do by himself compares to those memories, and when he’s finished all he’s done is turn anger back into pain.

Why? Why isn’t Seung-gil even willing to try? Was Phichit really just a training tool and a good lay? Just another skater, except they used to fuck? 

A strange thought hits him as he catches his breath—maybe he was a  _ bad _ lay.  _ How would Seung-gil even know? _ his brain interjects. He almost feels guilty. 

Almost. 

But it’s enough to make him doubt his memories. Every time they ended up in bed, Seung-gil looked at him like his entire world began and ended right there, but maybe he was just solving equations in his head. 

Maybe the words left on Seung-gil’s tongue weren’t  _ I need you  _ or  _Let’s make this work_, but _ I’m only fucking you because I’m bored and you’re convenient. _

Tears sting his eyes again, and he combs through the highlights of the summer for anything he might have misinterpreted. His own crush began on the ice and grew in close quarters, fully blooming when his old room in Detroit seemed too big. That night in Osaka he thought maybe Seung-gil felt the same way, and when Seung-gil pelted him with clothes in the dark, he had known.

Phichit showers and hangs his head in his hands. It’s all so murky now. 

Back home in Thailand, he watches Seung-gil skate in Finland, methodical and stiff even though the livestream is crystal clear. It’s like he’s trying to distance himself from anything he might have learned from Phichit this summer. He medals even with a lackluster PCS and no quad Lutz because his quad loop and even his quad toe are squeaky clean.

So he didn’t forget everything. 

Maybe the toe loop was all Phichit taught him this summer. Was that why Seung-gil rejected him? Because Phichit took his jumps and ran, never living up to his end of the bargain? Seung-gil  _ had _ said he didn’t want anything he didn’t pay for himself. 

Phichit’s still turning it over in his head at practice and he falls on his first jump of the day.

“You’re awfully distracted,” Ciao Ciao says. “Something on your mind?”

Phichit forces a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

What Ciao Ciao says next is, “Why don’t you take a break?”

What Phichit hears is, “Why don’t you make a killer workout playlist and really lean into this mood?”

“Great idea,” Phichit replies. 

He starts with K-pop videos because reasons, and the boys are cute but they’re too stylish and their eyebrows are all wrong. He tries emo music for a change of pace but it’s not until he ends up chin-deep in new wave that routines start to take shape in his head. One song sticks with him, its playcount shooting into double digits overnight. On the surface, it’s just catchy, but the lyrics are about love and silence and he can’t stop thinking about them. 

_ Can’t you understand? _

He can’t. Maybe that’s his mistake. All along, he’s been thinking like himself.

He needs to think like Seung-gil.

Seung-gil lives and dies by facts, so Phichit makes a list of everything he learned about Seung-gil over the summer.

Seung-gil is quiet. 

No, that’s not entirely true.

Seung-gil speaks with his actions.

Seung-gil is dedicated. In spite of everything that happened between them, no one can say he didn’t give it his all this summer. 

Seung-gil does things he doesn’t want to when Phichit asks. Or at least he used to.

Seung-gil put up with selfies and festivals, dramas and drinking parties. Things he would never do on his own. Things  _ Phichit _ likes. 

But what does  _ Seung-gil _ like? 

Seung-gil likes meat.  
Seung-gil likes skating.  
Seung-gil likes dogs.

It’s a pretty short list. 

Seung-gil is prone to zoning out, except when he’s eating or skating or looking at dogs. Seung-gil almost always pays attention to Phichit. 

Or at least he used to. 

It has to mean something. 

Just thinking like Seung-gil isn’t enough. Understanding Seung-gil consumes him. He tortures himself with pictures and videos from the summer, studies Seung-gil’s old routines, and zones out when he’s not drilling his own programs. He’s obsessing and he knows it but Yuuri lives in Russia now so there’s no one to call him out on it. 

Ciao Ciao doesn’t comment on his method skating when he shows him the routine, but he does say, “Watch your takeoff on the toe loop.”

“It was on purpose,” Phichit replies. His transformation is almost complete. 

Ciao Ciao frowns, but he doesn’t ask the question. Instead, he asks, “Are you going to use it for Skate Canada?”

Phichit shakes his head. “It’s just for me.” He’s all right with that, but he’s not really sure if he understands Seung-gil any better. 

Then Seung-gil competes at Skate America. Phichit follows all of the tweets. 

_ He made me go to festivals. _

It doesn’t change his mind, but it does make him laugh. Seung-gil’s short program is decent, but his free skate is the stronger routine, no matter what Min-so thinks.

Seung-gil nails the quad Lutz in warmups, to massive cheers. Phichit’s impressed, too.  _ Guess he was saving it for the Grand Prix. _ Seung-gil is always strategizing. Phichit steels himself for another robotic performance, but as soon as Seung-gil is alone on the ice, something feels different. He looks different. He looks morose. 

Phichit’s seen this routine up close dozens of times, even skated parts of it with Seung-gil, but he’s never connected to it like this before. 

Seung-gil hasn’t embodied heartbreak quite like this before, has never displayed it for the world to see. 

The music shifts, turning bleak and desperate, and so does Seung-gil. Eyes heavy, his blades carve the ice like knives in both of their hearts, because whether Seung-gil knows it or not, they beat together now.

His transitions and step sequences are some of the best he’s ever done, and the judges reward him accordingly. Vindication and pain swirl into an ugly cocktail in Phichit’s stomach but he can’t look away.

Seung-gil fucks up the quad toe, but even Phichit wouldn’t call him on it when his presentation’s this good. He nails his spins, arching his spine so deeply he must be in pain. Phichit’s hands close around nothing and he aches to trace that curve one more time, shivers at the crease in Seung-gil’s brow, the fine line between ecstasy and despair.

Phichit claps a hand over his mouth when Seung-gil sticks the Lutz, prettier than in his practice runs. Seung-gil hits his combinations, too, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe in Phichit’s lonely apartment. Seung-gil touches on the quad loop but it doesn’t matter today; for once, his PCS is more than enough to make up for it. 

Heartbreak shuts Seung-gil down on the final spin, but there’s nothing mechanical about it. It’s a beautiful collapse, and Phichit’s never been prouder or more ashamed for the part he played in it.

Seung-gil doesn’t cry after he’s done, nor when he’s atop the podium, but Phichit cries enough for the both of them. Anyone who says Seung-gil can’t emote can kiss Phichit’s ass (and that includes Seung-gil). 

The sad tears overtake the happy as Seung-gil’s face goes blank once more. Something about the medal ceremony feels final, like closure on their summer together. At least it ended in a masterpiece, but it’s an ending just the same. What they had was real, and it’s over. 

Phichit’s tears turn ugly, but it’s what he needs. Maybe Yuuri is onto something. In the morning, eyes still red and puffy, he thinks maybe he can move on, too.

Until he sees and hears—_In my language!_—Seung-gil’s new exhibition. Despite the surge of pride and love for his country, the only word he can muster is his favorite English curse.

“Mother_fucker!”_

The music sends him right back to Kobe, back to sitting on his bed with his feet under Seung-gil’s thigh while they watch Thai shows on Phichit’s laptop (Seung-gil’s pretending not to watch, but Phichit knows the truth). Back to sweating his ass off in their tiny apartment, wishing Seung-gil would take his damn shirt off. 

This routine is sexier, too, but Phichit knows exactly what it looks like when Seung-gil is feeling it and today he isn’t. 

It’s not over. That should make him happy but it’s a deliberate attack all the same.

Phichit breaks the silence with a text.

_ You stubborn asshole _

His phone vibrates soon after, but it’s his sister.

_ Oh my gosh!!!  
_ _ What are you going to do? _

Chris texts too.

_ Curious... _

There isn’t an emoji to convey his confusion, but he tries to respond. Seung-gil doesn’t.

Insulting him might have been a mistake. He can do better. 

“I want to change my exhibition for Skate Canada,” he tells Satsuki. 

She smiles. “I thought you might say that. Now let’s get back to work and make sure you get the chance!”

He throws himself into practice and the anger sloughs off, but if he’s going through with the exhibition, he needs a costume. Endless K-pop videos bob back up in his mind, and he orders a leather body harness from an  _ interesting _ online store that shows up as something totally different on his credit card statement. But authentic is cheaper than designer, not to mention much more robust than an Amazon job.

Skating in the gala is always the goal, but only because it comes with finishing on the podium. He still isn’t sure if he’s going to pull the trigger.  _ Shall We Skate?  _ is a much safer choice, and he packs the costume. 

He packs the harness, too. 

He’s in third place after the short program, and the same blogger who talked to Seung-gil interviews him. “You’re attempting three quads in your free skate tomorrow. Last season, you were doing one quad. Did you even take time off this summer?”

Phichit finds a laugh. “No one really takes the off-season off, huh? But I had some fun, too.” It’s easier to remember the fun parts now. 

“You trained with Seung-gil Lee. He put down an incredible free skate at Skate America, and you looked great out there today. Got any secret training techniques to share?”

Phichit could talk about falling in love and breaking hearts, but that’s for another day, and for Seung-gil’s ears only. He goes media-friendly instead. “We worked really hard over the summer and accomplished a lot together in a short period of time.” But he can’t resist winking and adding, “And we went to some festivals.”

He hopes Seung-gil is paying attention.

He really hopes Seung-gil is paying attention when he wins his first gold of the season. Hugging Ciao Ciao in the kiss and cry, carrying Thailand’s colors on his back, standing atop the podium...it’s incredible, but even that doesn’t take his mind off of Seung-gil.

Seung-gil remains silent. Phichit’s disappointed but not surprised; he didn’t congratulate Seung-gil on his gold medal, either. 

Silence is a sign, and he chooses black and leather over red and gold. 

Seung-gil hates exhibition galas—“What’s the point if you’re not being scored?”—but Phichit hopes he’s watching today. Not because this is a desperate, please-take-me-back play (it isn’t, not entirely), but because he may actually die if he doesn’t show the world how desperately he wants to understand Seung-gil. 

A hush falls over the crowd as Phichit skates out for the exhibition. His costume came together just how he wanted it to, black and edgy, but he can admit it’s jarring. It’s not quite Georgi-level makeup, but it’s more than Phichit’s worn out of the house before.

It suits Phichit’s mood, even if it isn’t something Seung-gil would wear. But the best way to get in character is to remember Kyoto, to remember asking Seung-gil for something he still hasn’t even put into words himself.

_ What are we, Seung-gil? _

Phichit puts himself in Seung-gil’s place once more and lets his heart break all over again. 

The music starts, and he skates. The question sounds completely different from the other side. Seung-gil hadn’t reacted outwardly. He barely reacted when Phichit asked him what he wanted the night they first kissed, the first time they touched each other. Most of Seung-gil’s thoughts never make it out of his head, and even fewer make it out of his mouth. He only stuck his tongue down Phichit’s throat that night so he wouldn't accidentally moan. 

Seung-gil holds himself back when he skates, too, at least he did until Skate America. But guilt isn’t what Phichit wants to portray right now. 

Not smiling comes with surprising ease. Aside from the gold medal (which is huge but hasn’t really sunk in yet), he doesn’t have much to smile about.

It all seemed so obvious this summer. Actions speak louder than words, and everything Seung-gil did had screamed “I like you.” 

He hated festivals, but he went with Phichit. He said he didn’t want to share food, then he was letting Phichit lick the spoon and sticking it right back in the pot. He shied away from touch until he was the one pulling Phichit closer. 

So Phichit tried to respond in kind. He gave Seung-gil space all summer, let Seung-gil come to him, let him set the pace. Phichit had never approached a relationship that way before. 

But Phichit’s never felt this way before. He’s always been free with his words and reckless with his _I love yous_, but the stakes are higher this time because this might actually be real. If it’s scary for Phichit, it must be terrifying for Seung-gil.

Seung-gil wants to be in control all the time. It’s why he’s so precise, so consistent until the pressure gets to him. Phichit doesn’t want to add to his stress. 

But he’s not about to let Seung-gil go without a fight. 

Phichit gives his quad toe just enough on-ice rotation to drive the point home. 

Ciao Ciao’s going to kill him if he keeps doing it like that, but he’s not Ciao Ciao’s skater right now. He’s Seung-gil, who speaks without talking and gives from his heart. 

And then there’s Phichit, who takes and talks and never shuts up. 

Where does that leave them?

It’s not the breakthrough he was hoping for, but he feels lighter than air when the program’s done. The text notification from Seung-gil sends him to the stars, but the message brings him crashing back down.

It’s just one word:  _ Explain. _

He isn’t sure what response he’s looking for, but it’s not that. Then again, if Seung-gil wasn’t so adorable and frustrating, Phichit wouldn’t be in this mess at all.

Phichit tries to think of a reply, but Guang Hong and Leo are here and they want to hang out, and he closes the message app and goes out with his friends.

Catching up is easy and fun until Guang Hong brings it up. “Your gala skate was really cool! Did you work on that with Seung-gil this summer?” 

Leo nudges Guang Hong. They can tell something happened, but there’s no way they really know. Phichit hasn’t even told Yuuri the full extent. It’s not like him to keep things to himself, but it’s not like him to be confused about his feelings, either. 

“Not exactly,” Phichit admits. 

Guang Hong and Leo exchange a look, communicating without words, and Phichit wonders just how close those two are. He thought he could do that with Seung-gil, but they don’t even speak the same language (and it’s not because they were born in different countries).

But they’re all starving and pizza is delicious. Phichit downs a beer and wonders if the pizza would have enough bacon for Seung-gil’s tastes. 

Only when Leo asks, “Are you okay?” does Phichit realize he’s barely said a word for fifteen minutes.

“Just overwhelmed,” he lies, partly. The weird thing is that he doesn’t feel like talking. Maybe he’s still channeling Seung-gil. He drinks another beer and feels a bit more like himself, for better or worse. They chat about everything but Seung-gil late into the night, but Phichit’s thoughts never stray for long. 

He plugs his phone in when he’s back at his hotel and stares at the message again. 

_ Explain.  _

Seung-gil should be the one explaining. He’s the one who reduced a summer of friendship and passion to a mere training exercise. 

Is that really all it was to him? Phichit feels like he’s back where he started. 

He sends his reply too late, too drunk:  _ I asked you first. _

It feels petty in the morning, and it goes read but unanswered. Seung-gil still hasn’t turned read receipts off. 

Always listening, always thinking, never saying much. 

The opposite of Phichit. 

Seung-gil let Phichit talk all summer. The more time they spent together, the less Seung-gil used his headphones. 

Phichit got better at listening, better at interpreting his silences.

And then they started sleeping together. Phichit’s exes were better at the physical aspects of sex, but Seung-gil left them all in the dust emotionally (and quickly surpassed them on the physical stuff, too).

But communication faltered. Not because Seung-gil had gotten what he wanted, but Phichit was waiting. 

He spent the whole summer waiting for a sign that what they had could exist outside of that tiny Kobe apartment. 

He didn’t get proof in Kyoto, but maybe that’s because Seung-gil was waiting, too. Waiting for food, waiting for drinks, waiting to leave…

Waiting for Phichit to say something. 

But Phichit never said the words that mattered. He asked for words instead, asked for something Seung-gil hadn’t figured out how to say, without offering words of his own.

Phichit is the talker. That works for them. Seung-gil asking to go to Kyoto was as good as a confession, but Phichit had asked for his own currency. Currency Phichit’s afraid to use. 

No wonder Seung-gil thought they were just training partners. He had given so much of himself and Phichit had ignored all of it to demand words for something he already…

Well, something he suspects. 

What if Phichit had said the right thing in that karaoke box?  _ I like you. I don’t want to say goodbye. _

Maybe Seung-gil would have given him  _ that _ look. Maybe he would have kissed him. Maybe they would have made out on the train home, reckless and rude. They might have taken a nap together that morning, and they definitely would have kissed each other goodbye at the airport like something out of a damn movie.

But Phichit didn’t say the right thing, and he still hasn’t said it.

They have the Trophée de France together, but Phichit doesn’t want to wait that long. 

He texts, he calls, he says it now, neither too little nor too late. 

And then, Paris.

It’s fittingly romantic, and once the medal ceremony is over, all they want is each other.

Neither of them takes first place but Phichit feels like a winner. That harness of his looks like a gold medal on Seung-gil, especially when it’s the only thing he’s wearing. 

Seung-gil backs him onto the bed and just hovers, lips over lips, staring down at him like he still can’t believe his luck. Phichit arches into his body, kisses him to show him how real it is, and Seung-gil’s hand is at his back in an instant, firm and steady. There’s certainty in Seung-gil’s eyes when they break apart, and Phichit’s smile gets one in return.

Phichit tries to chase another kiss but in the split second he closes his eyes, Seung-gil’s already moved on, to his neck, his chest, his stomach, cutting a quick path and making adorable muffled noises as he goes. _Impatient,_ Phichit thinks fondly, but it’s all good because the way they got Seung-gil into that harness definitely qualified as foreplay.

Seung-gil takes Phichit into his mouth without warning and impatient doesn’t begin to describe it. A moan cuts through the silence, so loud it can’t just be Phichit. He’s never heard (or felt, _god_) a sound like that come out of Seung-gil before, and he has to look down to make sure it’s not his imagination.

Seung-gil holds his gaze for a moment before pulling off, and Phichit knows it’s happening because his imagination couldn’t conjure up a scene this good. Seung-gil isn’t even touching himself—he’s gripping Phichit’s thigh with one hand and the other’s fisted in the sheets. He smiles and dips his head again, shifting to slow, soft kisses, but the sounds don’t stop. The moans are real, and not just because Seung-gil likes giving head (they figured that out during the summer of silence). He’s letting go, he’s  _ trying, _ and that’s the sexiest thing Phichit can imagine. Seung-gil’s teasing him with his tongue now, clouded eyes boring into Phichit’s once more, and  _ holy shit, _ this isn’t going to take long. 

Especially not if Phichit keeps watching, but he can’t bring himself to look away. Seung-gil releases the blankets to hold Phichit’s hip instead, but it’s not long before that hand slides down and curls around him, too, works in time with his mouth. It’s enough to make Phichit cry out in earnest, and he has to close his eyes to stay in control. 

He utters Seung-gil’s name, urgent. It’s meant to slow him down (maybe) but Seung-gil just takes him deeper, makes even better use of his hands. Phichit lets out another moan, Seung-gil can’t bite back one of his own, and it’s so good but it’s too fast because Phichit’s still harboring the ridiculous fantasy that popped into his head the moment he bought the harness. If he doesn’t stop Seung-gil it’s not going to happen, but Phichit’s brain seems unwilling to let him do anything but lie there and be sucked off.

It’s the most difficult thing he’s done all day (and that includes skating his free program), but Phichit reaches down to scratch at Seung-gil’s jaw. Seung-gil looks up in surprise and Phichit seizes the moment to extract himself. Air shocks his spit-soaked cock like a cold shower. Seung-gil actually whines, mouth hanging open in offense like he's been deprived of a basic need. There’s a trail of saliva running down his chin—he never seems to run out of spit, maybe because his mouth never goes dry from talking—and Phichit’s dying to thrust back in and give Seung-gil what he so obviously wants. He pivots to the side instead.

“Lie back,” Phichit urges, sitting up to gently push Seung-gil’s shoulder.

Seung-gil’s brow creases but he complies. If he's been this hard the whole time he must be in pain, but when he slides his hands under his legs to spread his thighs, Phichit's mind blanks.

“Do you want—inside?” Seung-gil asks.

“No. I mean, god, yes but—” But right now Phichit wants something else _more_. With a drag of hot, nerve-raw skin, he climbs on top of Seung-gil, captures his lips in a rough kiss, then draws back to sit on his chest. Seung-gil gazes up at him, fascinated or confused or both, and Phichit slides backwards, knees pressed into the mattress to support himself, until he’s about even with Seung-gil’s navel. This is what he trains for, he thinks, to be able to balance on his boyfriend’s stomach without crushing him. He runs his hands over the butter-soft, splurge-worthy leather and Seung-gil’s softer, worthier skin. “On you,” he breathes out, palming the center of Seung-gil’s chest, “here. Okay?”

Seung-gil’s eyes roll back and he shudders, then he’s glaring hotly at Phichit. “Yeah,” he says, then repeats it louder, meaner.

But Seung-gil isn’t angry. He’s impatient like always. Phichit grabs the lube—still on the bed because they just had sex an hour ago, how are they both so hard up already?—squirts some into one hand, and passes the open bottle to Seung-gil.

Seung-gil’s hands, now slick, take up where his mouth left off and Phichit needs a second to compose himself. He inches back until hot flesh meets his back—his asscrack, really—and Seung-gil grunts in appreciation. 

It’s unwieldy from this angle, especially compared to the graceful way Seung-gil is handing him, but Phichit reaches back to stroke Seung-gil against his own body with a wet, slippery palm. He tries to work the lube all the way around—should have used more—and tries to thrust his ass a little, but Seung-gil literally has him by the balls so all he can really do is arch his back to give himself more room to work with.

It’s enough. “_Yes_.” Seung-gil’s voice comes from his throat—that growl is too raw to be anything but genuine. Phichit hooks his other hand through one of the harness straps like it’s going to ground him, nails grazing skin, and Seung-gil throws his head back. “_Fuck_, yes.” 

He must be trying to kill Phichit because now it’s his _ name _ tumbling from those lips. Shaking, Phichit hunches forward and adjusts his grip in anticipation, squeezing Seung-gil’s shoulder hard enough to leave marks. He spills onto Seung-gil’s chest with a gasping cry, forcing his head up just in time to see the last of it hit. Seung-gil’s watching, too, he can tell, then their eyes meet and Seung-gil doesn’t have to ask for what he wants; he’s said more than enough. 

With a dazed nod, Phichit braces himself on Seung-gil’s chest with one hand and tries to resume his pace with the other. It’s lazy and the day is catching up with his legs, but it doesn’t matter because just one pull has Seung-gil coming up his back. Some of it drips back down onto his hand, still wrapped around Seung-gil’s dick and half-working him through. Phichit’s other arm gives out and he collapses onto Seung-gil’s chest, both of them breathing hard. They haven’t made this much of a mess of each other since their first time.

Seung-gil sucks in a deep breath and rests his sticky hands on Phichit’s thighs. With effort, Phichit lifts himself to look Seung-gil up and down. His eyes catch on stripes of white on black on skin and his reaction is primal. They need to be kissing. They haven’t kissed nearly enough lately.

When he pulls back, Seung-gil gazes up at him with heavy-lidded, sleepy eyes that pull at his heart. “Your costume,” Seung-gil says, and there’s so much affection in it, it has to mean more.

“Don't care.” There’s more Phichit wants to say, too, but there’s time, and Seung-gil is moments away from drifting off. Phichit reaches over the side of the bed to grab a discarded shirt, hoping it’s his own, then dabs at Seung-gil’s hands, his chest, a tiny bit on his chin.

“Got me,” mumbles Seung-gil, rendering Phichit so desperate for cuddles that he only gives his own chest, back, and hands a cursory wipe. It’s a shoddy cleanup all around, but he’s too tired and too in love to care. 

Phichit settles next to him and burrows into his shoulder. “You got me, too.” 

Seung-gil cranes his neck to appraise himself again. “Does semen come out of leather?” The question crinkles his features in the cutest way.

“Later. Snuggle now.” And sleep. After the free skate, the medal ceremony, press, and two rounds of sex, Phichit’s most of the way there.

“Help me out of this first?”

“Oh! Sorry.” It takes the last of their combined energies, but they manage to get the harness off. The last thing Phichit remembers is kicking it to the floor along with the shirt. 

They wake up curled together before the sun rises, and when Seung-gil makes no effort to leave the bed, Phichit has to kiss him some more, morning breath be damned. But the skin on his back pulls when he stretches—_Oh, yeah, we didn’t really clean up last night. _ It’s decidedly less sexy in the morning.

Phichit forgets all about the state of his gala costume until they’re showered and dressed and he’s trying to find his wallet so they can meet Yuuri and Viktor for breakfast. 

“Oh man, we really did a number on it, didn’t we?” says Phichit, examining the stained leather straps.

Seung-gil smirks ever so slightly. “You did.”

“Like you didn’t have a hand in it.” Phichit clicks his tongue, pretending to be annoyed, even as the memory triggers a pulse of lust. It’s dull, but it could easily become more. “Both hands, if I remember correctly. And your mouth.” 

Seung-gil shoots him a heated gaze, but he just pulls out his phone and starts googling solutions. 

Dabbing at it with a wet washcloth gets them nowhere, and bar soap makes it look worse.

“This site says the sooner you treat it, the better,” says Seung-gil. “It also recommends baby wipes.”

Phichit shrugs. “Then I guess it stays like that.”

He’s never seen Seung-gil’s eyes go so wide. “You’re still going to wear it?!”

“Why? Would that turn you on?” Phichit asks, grinning wickedly. “That’s twisted!”

Seung-gil frowns, and Phichit can tell he’s combing his mental catalogue of regulations. “You could get fined.”

He completely misses the point, and Phichit is completely in love with him. 

“I’ll just go without it. Besides, it served its purpose.” When Seung-gil cocks his head, Phichit explains, “Getting your attention. Like you said.”

Because he can be honest with himself now—the intent behind his exhibition program was pure, but the costume was always supposed to be sexy.

“I thought you meant last night,” Seung-gil replies. “Last night was hot.” He’s so matter-of-fact about it that Phichit has no choice but to spend the next several minutes kissing him, making them even later. 

Somehow, they manage to keep their clothes on and make it to the cafe.

“Someone had a little lie in this morning,” teases Viktor when they finally show up. He and Yuuri are already mostly through coffee and croissants. Phichit doesn’t mind, but he glances at Seung-gil to make sure he’s not annoyed.

Seung-gil doesn’t even blink. “Wardrobe malfunction.”

Phichit almost trips over his chair. 

“Is everything okay?” Yuuri rifles through his backpack. “I think I have a sewing kit. If not here, definitely back in the room.”

“Yeah...” Phichit scratches his head and glances at Seung-gil. “Thread isn’t going to fix this kind of mess.”

Yuuri’s hand freezes in his bag. Slowly, he withdraws it and returns it to the table. “I don’t want to know, do I?” 

Viktor giggles.

Phichit grins at Yuuri. “Nope! What’s for breakfast?”

Viktor says something in French and Phichit looks to Yuuri for help. Before Yuuri can answer, Seung-gil speaks up. 

He spits the words through his teeth, more accurately. “Bread. Just bread.” 

“French people usually have a very light breakfast,” Viktor explains. “Besides, I assumed you were late because you were filling up on meat.”

This double date definitely counts as one of those things Seung-gil does not because he wants to but because he likes Phichit. And if Phichit doesn’t fuck it up, maybe one day his ice show will be one of those things, too. 

He’ll make it up to him with words and deeds and, when they’re ready, all of his love, because this is worth fighting for. 

Worlds goes better this time but they both miss the podium—Phichit frames it as more reason to work harder with his favorite training partner. 

Their coaches don’t object. Seung-gil is focused enough to keep Phichit from getting too distracted on the ice, and Phichit is distracting enough to keep Seung-gil from focusing on the ice alone. 

But right now, their respective sponsors are too focused to give them a moment together.

When Min-so excuses herself, Phichit drops into her seat next to Seung-gil, just like last year. 

“Hey, you,” Phichit says. “Same time, same place?”

Seung-gil doesn’t respond with more than a turn of his head.

“This summer,” Phichit clarifies. “You in?”

“No.” Seung-gil is unmoved by Phichit’s pouting. He blinks like it takes effort. “We need a bigger apartment.”

“Why?” Phichit leans in so they’re shoulder to shoulder, and this year, Seung-gil leans in, too. Nostalgia is coloring Phichit’s memories of the old apartment, but that isn’t the point. “I like being close to you.”

“My hotel room is bigger than that apartment,” Seung-gil murmurs. “Was I close enough for you last night?”

They’ve had months to get used to each other, but Phichit’s face still gets hot when he talks like that. It may have something to do with the prospect of entire months together now that the season’s over: visiting each other’s homes, traveling, and training without tiptoeing around each other (literally and figuratively). 

Even though Phichit knows his answer is yes, he says, “Maybe, but I’m going to need evidence. Meet me up there as soon as you can.” 

Seung-gil stands so abruptly the chair almost topples. “Now’s good.”

They’ll catch hell for leaving early but this is something Phichit can do for Seung-gil, so he’s going to do it.

Seung-gil convinces him that night, and as it happens, they’re even closer in a bigger apartment than they were in the small one. 

It takes a couple more summers, coaching changes and relocation, a few more golds between them, and a home(!) where they live together(!) most of the year(!) but Phichit finally feels ready.

He doesn’t even have to ask; Seung-gil is ready, too. Phichit has coordinators for the ice show, but Seung-gil keeps better spreadsheets. He thrives on details and puts up with the rest. 

“Guess we know who’s planning the wedding,” Phichit jokes. 

Seung-gil looks at him. “Of course we do.”

He sounds so sure that Phichit almost forgets they aren’t engaged.

Phichit keeps one detail of the show to himself. Chintana is retired now, but she helps Ruthai train sometimes and she’s always happy to help Phichit.

He explains what he wants her to do and why. “He’s just so dedicated to the sport, you see.”

“I’ll have to brush up on the rules.” Chintana pats Phichit’s cheek. “But of course I’ll help you impress your boyfriend.” 

He’s not trying to impress Seung-gil, he’s trying to thank him, but Chintana is too old and sweet to correct. 

The debut of  _ Phichit on Ice  _ goes off with only minor hiccups: a little music delay, some lighting problems, one hamster hat malfunction, but none of that matters when the lights go up. The stands are packed with friends, family, and his fellow Thai people. Kids who will go on to sign up for skating classes and take the baton from Phichit.

It’s everything he ever wanted, and then Seung-gil throws his arms around Phichit and kisses his cheek in front of everyone. 

It’s like Phichit’s skates don’t touch the ice he’s flying so high. 

They get separated by all the fanfare, but everyone’s meeting for food and drinks later. Phichit won’t make Seung-gil stay at the bar long. But before they can go, Phichit needs to catch up with Chintana. She passes him a sheet of paper and beams at him. “Your boyfriend isn’t the only one who’s dedicated to the sport.”

He thanks her with a deep bow and heads off to find Seung-gil, but he gets held up by everyone he’s ever met along the way.

Their friends (and they are  _ their  _ friends now) already left for the bar but Seung-gil is waiting for him on a bench in the changing room.

“Thought I was going to have to come find you.” There’s a waver in his voice that says he’s glad he didn’t need to.

Phichit meets him toe to toe. “I’d beat off raging hordes of zombies for you.”

“Is that any way to talk about your fans?” Seung-gil doesn’t even give Phichit a chance to bite back. He zeroes in on the sheet of paper Phichit’s trying to hide behind his back instead. “What’s that?”

Phichit grins and stands on tiptoe to place a kiss to his nose. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Seung-gil looks genuinely confused, bless him. 

“For making this show even better than I dreamed.” Happy tears Phichit only now realizes he’s been holding back all day well up in his eyes. There’s a soft smile on Seung-gil’s face as he reaches up to dab them away.

“You did that.” 

Phichit laughs. “Well, yeah, but not by myself.” 

Seung-gil strokes Phichit’s cheek and leans down to kiss him, but just when the kiss starts to heat up, there’s a tug at the paper. Phichit tightens his grip but it’s too late. 

“Hey!” he protests. “I was getting to that!” But he smiles as Seung-gil stares at the sheet.

“You scored me?”

“Not me, personally.” Phichit puts his arms behind his neck and grins, sheepish. “A favor from a family friend.”

The room is silent for a long time as Seung-gil reads the score sheet. Even after three years, Phichit still doesn’t understand everything that goes on in Seung-gil’s head. 

That’s part of the fun.

Unless he doesn’t like it. Phichit holds his breath.

“Zero GOE on my quad loop,” Seung-gil finally mumbles. But when he looks up, he’s the one with shining eyes. “I love you.”

The grin on Phichit's face is inextinguishable. He wraps Seung-gil in a hug, grips him tight and nuzzles into his warm chest. “I love you, too.”

There are four more shows, and Phichit and Seung-gil have years of ups and downs ahead of them, but right now it feels like they’ve made it. 

Whatever comes their way, they’ll get through it together.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't think of a better way to follow up a >20k oneshot than with a <10k sequel, can you? 
> 
> Honestly, this story has been kicking around mostly finished on my Google Docs since April but I was too nervous to post it. Thanks so much to the people who encouraged me to post it anyway, thanks to [mindifimoveincloser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindifimoveincloser/) for making me think I was maybe being too hard on myself, and special thanks to [Songbirdsara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songbirdsara/) for beta-reading and helping with my persistent titling problems. 
> 
> As always, [@peppiestbismilk](https://twitter.com/peppiestbismilk) on Twitter if you want to chat. ❤️


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